


Five Times Dean Woke Up Angry and One Time He Didn't

by whichstiel



Series: Season 13 Codas [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s13e06 Tombstone, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, M/M, Post-Episode: s13e06 Tombstone, SPN 13x06, Season/Series 13, dean is a violent sleeper, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 18:56:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12754215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: Castiel pressed a surprised hand against the hole punctured through the meat of his vessel’s shoulder and tilted his chin down to examine it curiously. The bullet had gone straight through. Castiel raised his brows. It shouldn’t be too difficult to heal. Already his grace mobilized against the torn tissue, sealing it against any further damage. He looked down at Dean.Dean Winchester lay frozen, half twisted around on his bed with a gun still shaking in his hand. It was now pointed straight at Castiel’s forehead.





	Five Times Dean Woke Up Angry and One Time He Didn't

ONE

Castiel pressed a surprised hand against the hole punctured through the meat of his vessel’s shoulder and tilted his chin down to examine it curiously. The bullet had gone straight through. Castiel raised his brows. It shouldn’t be too difficult to heal. Already his grace mobilized against the torn tissue, sealing it against any further damage. He looked down at Dean.

Dean Winchester lay frozen, half twisted around on his bed with a gun still shaking in his hand. It was now pointed straight at Castiel’s forehead.

When Castiel had flown to Dean’s bedside he’d been asleep on his stomach on top of the covers with one fist curled around his pillow and the other hanging on feebly to an almost empty whisky bottle. A blood red aura quivered over Dean’s resting form like a sickly mist and his limbs twitched as though he were running or fighting in his dreams. Castiel reached to wake him then hesitated, his hand hovering over the sleeping man. Dean was dreaming, but the images bloomed and dissipated before Castiel could determine the content. Castiel frowned. He was likely replaying his experience in Hell yet again, judging by the rare coherent thoughts Castiel was able to detangle from the jumble of agony clanging out of Dean’s head. Castiel knew he could ease Dean’s dreams; it would be a mercy easily given. He shook his head. No. He wasn’t here to bring the man comfort. He was here because another seal would be broken two states away, and time was of the essence. Castiel laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder to shake him awake. Which is when he shot Castiel.

Now awake, Dean’s pupils were blown wide, his mouth open on a snarl. His finger trembled on the trigger. “Cas! What the fuck?”

Castiel stood tall before the gun and delivered Heaven’s message. “Another seal is being broken in Nevada. We need to--”

Dean drew his mouth up into a disgusted grimace and then after a moment’s hesitation, drew back the gun, flipping on the safety. He rolled into a sitting position and stuffed the gun into the waistband of his pants. “Cas,” he said, his voice trembling in rage. “You can’t just… You don’t just…” 

But whatever words he was searching for became moot because Sam’s voice rose up behind Castiel. “Damn it, Dean. I told you to stop sleeping with your gun under your pillow! We gotta move out before the cops get here.”

Dean made a sour face, mimicking Sam’s words as he swung his legs around to the opposite side of the bed. “Weren’t you listening? We gotta go anyway, Sam. Mission from God. Might as well leave right away.”

Castiel stood in between the two beds as the two Winchesters sprang into action, hastily repacking bags, grabbing weapons paraphernalia, sealing up zippers, and wedging on shoes. He raised one hand tentatively. “I could fly you--”

Dean’s gun reappeared, pulled from his waistband and leveled straight at Castiel’s ear. “We’ll meet you there,” he growled. 

TWO

The war in Heaven was taking its toll on him. Castiel stood with his hands at his sides and reveled in peace for the first time in what felt like aeons. There was no army awaiting his orders, no hit squad descending on him. It was just himself and a small house full of sleeping humans and less somnolent rodents. One by one he relaxed his fingers at his side and tilted his head so it fell into the pool of weak winter dawn straggling through the window. 

By the looks of the room where Dean slept, they’d had a late night. Books were piled everywhere, scribbled notes about monsters covered sheets of paper. Castiel winced to look at them and returned his attention to Dean. He needed to find out what they knew and this one break of fighting afforded him the chance to fly in and interrogate the Winchesters on his own. In his experience they reacted poorly to any soldiers assigned to the task.

Dean lay asleep on the couch, one arm thrown up over his eyes, the other dangling off the side of the couch. Castiel bent over and pressed a hand on his shoulder to wake him. 

Dean half shouted, half screamed in his face, and he pulled his outflung arm from his face and balled his hand into a fist in an instant. A moment later and he had struck Castiel in the face with a stinging blow, hard enough to nudge Castiel’s chin towards his shoulder. Dean howled in pain even as he scrambled up and away from Castiel. He was off the couch and on the other side of the room in a manner of seconds, where he stood panting and cradling his hand against his chest. “Cas. I swear to God,” he said as his eyes slowly focused on Castiel.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said. He looked at the hand Dean held gingerly against him carefully. “Did you break something? Let me look at it.”

Dean rolled his eyes expansively. “Did I break something?” he asked the room at large. He examined his hand, wincing as he tried to move his fingers. “Fuck.”

Castiel frowned. “Here. Let me.” Dean scowled at him as he approached and held out his injured hand. It was indeed broken, with spidering fractures along the bone of three of his fingers and an inflamed tendon. Castiel laid his own hand along Dean’s and healed the injury. Upstairs sounded a loud thump and Castiel imagined they would see Sam or Bobby at any moment. “Dean, I wanted to know...”

Dean held up his healed hand and hissed at him like an angry cat, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Not. One. Word. Not one. Not until I have some coffee in me.” Without another word, he whirled and stalked off towards the kitchen, muttering slanders against Castiel’s brethren, father, and homeland as he went.

THREE

Castiel shook Dean awake, practice causing his own hand to fly up and block Dean’s killing strike. He gripped Dean’s wrist and held the wicked Purgatory blade inches from where it had been set to slice through his eye. He looked beyond the blade to where Dean lay gasping. Dean’s gaze was dark, deadly, and still befuddled by sleep. As Castiel watched, his eyes began to focus on Castiel, and he ceased to strain against his grip. Dean’s mouth pulled into a disgusted grimace and his eyes shifted away from Castiel to a spot on the ground. When Dean pulled back the blade Castiel carefully released his wrist. 

Dean still wore a scowl but now that the initial danger was over Castiel bent down low. “We need to go,” he said. “They’re on the move. Benny spotted one up by the hills.”

“Fuck. That was our last camp.” Dean pushed himself up, crouching low, and looked to Castiel. “Where to?”

Castiel pointed between a copse of trees and waited for Dean to begin running to follow, Benny falling in behind them moments later. They ran for half the day, zigzagging across the landscape. Only once did Dean speak, dropping back to lean against a tree, his hand clutched against his side as though in pain. “I’d murder someone for just one fucking cup of coffee,” he groaned, refusing to look at either of them as he caught his breath. He was muddy and bloody; the stench of Purgatory had sunk into his skin. He looked pale, thin, and half wild as he pressed against the tree. With great effort Castiel kept himself from approaching Dean, or consoling him. They were still too far from the portal to entertain any false hopes. Dean closed his eyes and rubbed his palm along his side, mouth drawn up into a jagged line of pain. Then he pushed off from the tree and began to run again.

FOUR

Surreal. That seemed like the best word for it. Castiel was alive and sitting in a ludicrously decorated hotel room. Sam and Dean slumbered in the next room and Jack sat with him in the main living area conversing about power and Kelly’s hopes for Jack. It was quiet, domestic and almost routine. It was utterly surreal. 

His time in the empty had seemed interminable and a day after his astonishing resurrection Castiel still felt overwhelmed by the stimulus of the world. He was reminded of his first mission on Earth. How everything had seemed big and loud and...too much. He felt a little bit like that now, fitted back into the Winchester’s lives like a puzzle piece. The only thing was, he was pretty sure the shape of himself had changed, or was currently in flux. If he had changed, then how did he fit into the Winchester’s lives now? His mind churned over this puzzle, which meant his attention was deflected just enough to fail to prevent Jack from springing up and barging in to Sam and Dean’s room. He’d witnessed Jack waking Dean with his heart in his throat, remembering all the times Dean had aimed killing strikes his way. The fact that nothing terrible had befallen Jack seemed like some kind of minor miracle.

Afterwards, Dean hovered over his coffee like an angry vulture jealously guarding a fresh tear of entrails. Castiel settled back and waited for caffeine to wind its ways through Dean’s system and into his brain. Coil by angry coil his body would unwind, the alarm-shrill shriek of his slow-to-wake mind would begin to let in the world and then, finally, Castiel.

Minutes ticked on, punctuated only by slurped coffee and a ticking clock buried in the wild western themed knick-knacks nailed around the room. Castiel watched Dean. He seemed well, if a bit gaunt. He must have kept busy, worn thin by hunts while Castiel was...while Castiel was away. It was good that he was busy. Dean was always happiest on a hunt.

Even in his current surly state, Dean’s face, his eyes, the wild tangle of his soul still took Castiel’s breath away. Castiel sat in the kitchenette and watched Dean out of the corner of his eye, and waited. 

FIVE

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, crouched by his bed. The bunker was still, quiet in the small hours of the morning. He’d driven into the state without intending to stop while he crisscrossed the Midwest in his search for Jack. And then something tugged at him, deep in his gut. _Longing._

Castiel followed it like a homing whale, and the song led to the bunker. He parked just outside the door; he wasn’t going to stay for long. Maybe just a half an hour, to check in. Maybe a morning if there was much to go over. He’d creaked open the door and entered the silent bunker. Walked down the stairs. Crept mouse quiet down the hallway to Dean’s bedroom.

Longing pulsed like a heartbeat in his gut and Castiel pushed open the door and crossed the room to Dean’s bed. He knelt beside him, just out of reach but close enough that Dean could see him in the light streaming in from the hallway. “Dean,” he whispered. 

Dean shot up with a gasp, arms whirling to attack in the instant before he caught a glimpse of Castiel’s face. He pulled his fist back and curled his fingers tightly, his jaw clenching as his eyes focused. “Cas. I swear to god—“

“Apologies,” Castiel said quietly. He dropped his eyes, suddenly aware that he was in Dean’s bedroom, uninvited. Dean held his private spaces close to him, protectively. He shouldn’t have come in or, he should have knocked instead. “I’m sorry to wake you. I was passing through the area and…”

Dean groaned and flopped back down onto the pillow, grinding his fists into his eyes. “What the fuck, Cas? It’s three in the morning. You couldn’t have waited an hour for me to wake up?”

Castiel drew his mouth into a frown. Of course, Dean was right. “I...yes. I’ll text you later. Go back to sleep.” Castiel stood carefully. “Good night, Dean.”

Dean grunted inarticulately from the bed. “Damn it. Just. Let me take a piss. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Castiel nodded and left the room quickly, something easing in his chest with the knowledge that Dean wanted him to stay and talk for a little while. He hurried to the kitchen and pulled out the little Tupperware container holding the coffee supplies. Sam, and later Dean, had helped him to master the coffee maker and over his many sporadic days at the bunker, he’d become expert at preparing coffee. It gave him something to plan, something to do every day in the hours spent waiting for the bunker to awaken. He fell to making coffee now with good will and the coffee pot was already hissing with fresh coffee by the time Dean stumbled bleary eyed into the kitchen.

He slumped to the table, his robe wrapped tightly around his middle. Dean stared at the table until Castiel set two cups on the table, one in front of Dean and the other opposite him. He settled down and wrapped his hands around his own cup and watched Dean slowly inhale the steam rising from his mug. Dean screwed his eyes shut and took one tentative sip, jolting back at the taste of the overly hot liquid. Still, he looked up at Castiel after that and his gaze almost appeared friendly. “So?” he asked brusquely. “What’s going on that couldn’t wait ‘til morning? Do I need to wake up Sam?”

“No, nothing’s going on.” Castiel shrugged carefully. “I just...wanted to see you. See how you were doing.”

“Hmm.” Dean took another sip and avoided the intimation of a question. “How’s the hunt?”

Castiel frowned. There was nothing new he could find to say about it so he said nothing.

“That bad, huh?” Dean sent a look his way that almost appeared apologetic. 

“Still nothing. And so I’ll keep…”

“Looking,” Dean finished his thought with a sigh. “You’ll find him,” he said. “We’ll find him.”

“I hope so.”

Dean looked at Castiel over the rim of his cup and a half smile ghosted over his face. “Glad you’re here, anyway.”

“Me too.” 

They sipped their coffee in companionable silence for several minutes before Dean spoke again. He prefaced his speech with a sharp inhale followed by silence, as though he had almost reconsidered saying anything. Then he said, “I thought you’d stay, you know.” He tapped the table. “Here at the bunker, with us.” Castiel drew in a breath - to apologize or explain himself? He didn’t know. Dean held up a hand. “I know you gotta get out there. I do. It’s just...when you were d-- When you were in the Empty. We missed you. I missed you. As soon as you can, you come back okay?”

Castiel smiled then, a full smile so rare that the stretch of his cheeks felt like an alien sensation. “Of course.” He finished his coffee and set down his cup with a deep sigh. “Well. I should be going, I suppose.” He carried his cup to the sink and rinsed it carefully, then dried his hands on a towel lying on the counter. 

Castiel was headed for the door when Dean stopped him with one quiet word. “Wait.” Slowly Castiel turned around. Dean looked at him almost pleadingly, as though begging Castiel to read his mind rather than have him speak. “Cas,” Dean said, unhooking his legs from the table and turning to face Castiel fully. “I’m sorry. I feel like we-- I chased you away.”

“Dean, no.”

Dean slapped his hands on his knees and pushed himself to standing. He wrapped his arms around his midsection, robe caught in his fingers. Then he took three steps forward so that he drew even to where Castiel lingered in the doorway. “When you got back we took you out on a hunt. Didn’t even get a chance to get your sea legs before shit went sideways. I just want you to know that I didn’t mean it.”

“Didn’t mean what?” Castiel asked, truly puzzled. 

“I tried to just pretend everything was normal. Like you’d never gone away.” He looked down. “Like I hadn’t changed. But Cas. Losing you.” Dean shook his head. “Losing you--”

Castiel watched Dean’s fumbling with confusion. He seemed flustered and almost in agony getting words out. “Dean,” he said, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright,” he tried, resorting to one of the useless platitudes he’d armed himself with for hunts. 

Dean lifted one hand and covered Castiel’s with his own. He gripped his fingers hard enough to be painful if Castiel had been human. “I didn’t tell you and I lost you,” Dean said quietly. “And you came back and I tried--” He broke off again and stared away from Castiel, down at the floor. “I just need you to know that you’ll always have a place here. I need you, man. I-- I--” Dean trailed off. 

Castiel held Dean’s hand, feeling utterly at sea, as though there were layers built into Dean’s words that he couldn’t decipher. “I...appreciate that,” he tried, tentatively. 

To his shock when Dean looked up again his eyes were wide and wet with unshed tears. He whispered, almost angrily, “You told me you loved me once and I...didn’t say anything back.”

Castiel would have reeled back if not for Dean’s grip. How in the world had they cycled around to that horrible night? He’d bled out the words as he’d disintegrated from the inside and while his body had healed, it had been too late to draw them back. He had satisfied himself that they had been said, at least. Spoken, and ignored, or so he thought. 

“You said you loved me and I just gotta let you know, Cas. Before you go. I just gotta let you know.” Dean shook his head, then cleared his throat and looked at Castiel straight in the eye. “I love you, too,” he said. Then he shook his hand free from Castiel and stepped away, looking somehow smaller than usual, pressed up against the drab kitchen walls. “Just wanted you to know. Wanted to say it. Before you go. Just in case--” his voice broke and silence descended on the kitchen. They stood together as the coffee maker dripped idly in the corner. Castiel peered closely at Dean, trying to wrap his mind around Dean’s words. _I love you, too._

Dean’s words finally broke through, like a leaf bud pushing through soil. Castiel inhaled sharply, then stepped forward and raised his palm to cradle Dean’s face. He smiled and brushed his thumb along Dean’s stubbled cheek. 

Slowly, Dean lifted his hand and slid his fingers over Castiel’s, and began to smile.

SIX

Dean harrumphed in Castiel’s arms. It was a small sound, barely an exhalation of breath. Yet Castiel could sense that this was Dean recalibrating. He’d woken up moments before, tensed immediately, and then feigned sleep. Castiel could feel him slowly relax, muscle group by muscle group, until once again Dean lay calm and quiet in Castiel’s arms. Slowly, Castiel smiled.

After their talk Dean had grabbed Castiel’s hand and silently pulled him out of the kitchen and towards the hallway where his bedroom lay. Castiel had pushed aside the worries about Jack for a moment, sensing that this moment was fragile and easily broken. He chose not to speak and instead followed Dean to his bedroom. Dean led him inside then closed the door behind them. He steered Castiel to his bed and then shot a shy grin his way. “I don’t mean...anything by this.” He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m just fuckin’ tired, man. Will you stay a while longer?”

“Of course,” Castiel had said and allowed himself to be arranged on the bed. Dean curled up close to him, easing a tentative arm over Castiel’s torso. And when Castiel didn’t push him away, he rolled closer, tucking his chin into Castiel’s shoulder and breathing deeply. They lay there like that for almost two hours before Dean, astonishingly, fell back asleep. Castiel had held him as soft dreams stole over Dean, and wondered how he had managed to arrive here. _Surreal, that’s the only word for it_ , he thought. Peace rolled over Dean and spilled over to him so that he felt overfull.

Now awake, Dean stirred in his arms. “Morning,” he mumbled, almost pleasantly. “Never sleep this much.”

Castiel laughed quietly. “I know.”

“Mmm,” Dean’s sigh emerged as a low hum. “You headin’ out soon?”

“I should.” Castiel sighed regretfully. “I may have a lead in Missouri and I should check it out before it goes cold.”

“I could go with you,” Dean said quietly. “Help out.”

Castiel’s smile grew still wider. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” That seemed to put an end to their conversation until Dean pulled his head from Castiel’s shoulder and raised himself up to balance on his elbow. He met Castiel’s eye and moved one hand to his tie, where he ran a finger along the fabric. His lips parted. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, barely audibly. 

“Yes,” Castiel breathed, just as quietly. And then Dean’s lips were on his own, soft, gentle, and undemanding. Castiel relaxed under the pressure of Dean’s mouth. This was kissing. He’d done it before, and liked it. Dean’s lips closed on his bottom lip and he exhaled slowly, breath tickling along Castiel’s cheek. When Dean pulled away it was a with a soft smile, slightly awkward and entirely endearing. 

“This good?” he asked quietly. 

Castiel nodded, not trusting himself to find the right words. Instead, he ran his fingers through the fine hairs at the back of Dean’s head and pulled him in so their lips could meet again. He parted his mouth and was pleased when Dean did the same. As naturally as breathing, Dean’s tongue slipped into his mouth and teased along his teeth. Castiel couldn’t help the moan that escaped him then. That seemed to be the proper encouragement because Dean surged against him, bringing both hands up to frame Castiel’s face as he kissed him slowly and deeply. 

When they pulled away again several minutes later, Dean licked his lips. He cheeks were flushed, eyes bright, and he grinned fondly at Castiel in a gaze so warm and welcoming that it heated Castiel far better than any kiss or touch possibly could. “Is this okay?” Dean asked. “Is this good?”

Castiel shifted his chin to the side so that his lips met Dean’s palm. He pressed a slow kiss there, trying to convey everything he was feeling through that touch. “Perfect,” he said. “It’s perfect.” He moved then in an effort to draw closer to Dean, shifting his legs and turning so that they could press more fully along each others’ bodies. 

Dean hissed at the movement and he dropped his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder. “Ah,” he said, his voice muffled in Castiel’s coat. “I gotta go...take care of something.”

Castiel frowned at him. “Do you mean your erection?” he asked. He could feel it pressing against his thigh. 

“Jesus, Cas, you can’t just say—“ Dean laughed against his throat, but he didn’t move away. 

Castiel smoothed a hand down Dean’s back until it came to rest against the curve of his hip. Tentatively, he pressed down, encouraging Dean to roll against him. To his gratification, Dean did just that, grinding down into his hip with a pleased groan. “I could help you with that,” he said and with no further encouragement Dean began to move.

He reclaimed Castiel’s lips, turning so that he lay half on top of Castiel, rolling his hips in short, slow thrusts. Castiel turned his own hips, bent his own legs so they fit together more completely. Dean’s mouth felt hot against his own, each breath pulling out soft groans against his skin. Castiel let the sensations roll over him in a way he never would have before he died. But this was a new Castiel, and he wanted this. Oh, how he wanted Dean. He lifted his own hips and began to move against Dean. He could feel the moment Dean realized he was growing hard because he gasped and stilled, pulling back to look at Castiel with something bordering on awe. Then he dove back in and tangled their tongues until Castiel felt like a buoy riding on the tide. 

“Cas,” Dean gasped. “Want to feel you.”

Castiel couldn’t speak. He only moaned in response and reached his fingers down beneath the waistband of Dean’s pants until he could grab the meat of his ass. He kneaded at the muscle there until Dean whined against his throat and then he moved his hand around and pulled Dean’s waistband down, exposing his cock. It was wet with precome and Castiel ran his thumb across the tip until Dean hissed and pulled away enough to fumble at Castiel’s zipper. He reverently opened Castiel’s fly and reached inside, shoving aside his underwear until his hand closed around Castiel’s cock. Castiel moaned at his touch and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, so lost was he in the sensation. He heard Dean laugh softly and opened his eyes. “Well, ain’t we gonna have a good time,” Dean said in something nearing a growl. 

Castiel nodded. “I think. Yes,” he managed and his mouth dropped open as Dean reared back, slung his leg over Castiel’s hips, and settled forward again so that their erections brushed together. He licked his hand until it came away shining and brought it down between them, pressing their flesh together. 

“You like that?” Dean whispered. 

“Yes, oh yes. Dean.” Castiel grunted at the tsunami of sensation as Dean worked his hand between them. He would not last long. He couldn’t. “Dean. Dean I—“

Dean didn’t reply. His eyes closed in apparent bliss, aura juddering in a panoply of colors, and then he came. It was so beautiful. So beautiful. Castiel followed with a shudder and when he floated down from that impossible high he looked at Dean with awe. “That was…”

Dean shook his head, looking shocked himself. “I know.” He heaved out a sharp breath and lowered himself, swiping his hand on his sheets along the way. He lay across Castiel and kissed him gently. “How about we leave right after breakfast?”

Castiel grinned. He’d forgotten Dean had said he would come along to help him find Jack. “Okay. Yes. Okay.”

“Good,” Dean smiled and kissed him on his throat and his cheek and his lips again. “Good.”

And it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/whichstiel) and [Tumblr](http://whichstiel.tumblr.com/) @ whichstiel. You may also like the Supernatural recap and gif blog I co-write/curate, [Shirtless Sammy](https://shirtlesssammy.tumblr.com/).


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